Memorabilia
by loch.ness.princess
Summary: A small piece of Jasper’s past unexpectedly reappears, causing him to shut himself away as he tries to come to terms with the fact that he has forgotten his original family.
1. Stimulus

**A/N: thanks for reading! No copyright infringement intended.**

The rain clattered steadily on the windows. Emmett sighed and shuffled his feet. It was the last class of the day –history—and he was very bored. Jasper, however, was not. Jasper _loved_ history—and they were currently studying the Civil War (or, as Jasper insisted on calling it, the War of Northern Aggression). Jasper's favorite. Emmett stifled a groan. Jasper's mood took a slight upward twitch whenever the South was mentioned and, since Emmett was sitting right behind him, he was getting the full impact of his brother's contentment. If there was one thing that Emmett hated, it was being forced to like a subject that he really liked to hate. Even worse was the fact that he couldn't really call Jasper out, because it was difficult for Jasper to control his thirst and his powers at the same time.

Still. It had been a good day for Jasper. For some reason, his thirst was not bothering him as much as usual. He had even spoken in class when called on—and not his usual taut response, either, but an eloquent (but mercifully succinct) answer to the teacher's question.

Emmett turned his attention back to the teacher, a woman in her forties. She was chattering away about the South. Emmett's emotions spiked a tiny bit, so he stabbed Jasper in the back with a pencil when their teacher wasn't looking. He felt a bit better, in a petty way.

"Now," the teacher was saying, "in previous years, I'm sure that the South—" Emmett's mood lifted "—you've read about has been somewhat demonized—you know, the evil oppressors selfishly enslaving innocents and so on." Emmett's mood dropped a bit. He jabbed the tip of the pencil into Jasper's spine again, willing his bother to regain control over his talent.

The teacher was still talking. "I thought that, to undo this common myth, we might read some letters in class." She walked down the aisles, handing out packets of papers to her students. "Jasper, why don't you start us off? You have the one from—" and she laughed a little as she read the paper "—a soldier named Jasper, oh, how funny."

Emmett snorted quietly. It was not by chance that Jasper had gotten one of his own letters. This particular teacher purposely scoured her volumes of primary sources to find letters from people that had names that corresponded to her students'. It was her way of making the texts relevant. It usually worked, too—but it was a nasty surprise for the Cullens when one of their own letters made their way into the curriculum.

"Class, listen up. This letter was a letter from a Texas soldier named Jasper Whitlock to his little sister, Lydia, when she was about eleven. Jasper, whenever you're ready."

Jasper stared at the piece of paper in his hand for a snap second and then he began to read aloud. Emmett noted the slight dip that his mood had taken but refrained from poking Jasper again. This was probably not the time.

There was a tiny shake in Jasper's voice as he began to read.

"_My dear Lydia,_

_Here is, as promised, a separate letter just for you. I trust that you will keep it secret for fear that Grace will soon be clamoring for one. This can be our special secret, can it not?_

_The military life is quite enjoyable in every respect, except for the food. As there are no women in the camp, we all take turns cooking, but as none of us know how the result is often rather odd if not disastrous. Yesterday it was Ethan's turn—you remember Ethan, do you not? When presented with a side of bacon, a bag of flour, and a small can of lard and told to cook something, he decided to cut up the bacon and throw all of the ingredients into a frying pan with a little water to moisten the flour. The result was a pasty, disgusting morass that no one ate—we all went into town and had gin for our dinners instead. If you had been here I know that you would have concocted a fine meal for all of us, even with such meager rations, but sadly that cannot be, for the camp is filled with men far too coarse for such a fine lady as you are becoming._" Jasper sounded like he was choking. Emmett's mood was spiraling downwards as his brother inadvertently made the whole class more and more upset. He quickly stabbed Jasper with the pencil for the third time that day. Jasper jerked imperceptibly, brought his talents under control, and kept reading.

"_Despite the indigestible food and the boredom that is the result of sitting around for most of the day, life here is pleasant, as I spend most of my time with my friends. Do not tell Mother this, as it would likely hurt her feelings, but I would not object to several more years of military life. It certainly beats breaking my back over farm labor. I am tempted to say that every man should be allowed, nay required, to serve in the military for at least five years or until homesickness overtook them. I know that you fear for my life, but as of now we are not near any fighting. I do wish that you would stop reading those horrid newspaper articles that Mother cuts out and sends to me. The only gunshots that are heard around here are during drill and target practices. Please, Lydia, do not concern your pretty head with such terrible things—there are far better things to think about, such as how to gain your revenge upon that irksome girl who sits in front of you in the schoolhouse. She has very long hair, does she not? If she persists in taunting you, I would suggest that you dip the ends of her braids into your inkwell. When she moves, the ink will be splattered onto her dress—I know from experience that this works quite effectively. As this is a subtle form of revenge, it is unlikely that she will be unable to convince the teacher that you are to blame. If Mother was to hear of this, she would no doubt have strong words to say to both of us, so I advise that you be discreet about it and do not tell everyone what I have just suggested that you do. This shall be yet another one of our secrets, shall it not?_

_I am afraid that I shall have to end my letter here, as these last lines fill up my page. Do take care, Lydia, and be sure to be very helpful to Mother. I miss all of you very much._

_Much love from your Jasper_."

Jasper's deep voice stopped abruptly and he set his packet down on his desk, watching the teacher for further instruction. The teacher cleared her throat and said, "Thank you, Jasper. Any thoughts, class? Anyone care to analyze what you have just heard?"

A girl named Danielle, who was notorious for forcing her opinions on people, raised her hand. "Well," she said, "I think that this guy was kind of chauvinistic. Like, he was talking about how she could cook because she was a girl, and when he was talking about her reading newspapers, he told her not to worry her 'pretty head' about it. Like she was incapable of reading a newspaper without her head blowing up from the sudden influx of information." She shook her head disgustedly.

"He didn't want her to get scared," Jasper said angrily. "The newspapers of the time were more like tabloids, all very sensationalist. Furthermore, I would argue that his mindset is not chauvinistic but rather characteristic of the era—a mindset which, it should be noted, was shared by men and women alike."

Danielle looked a little startled. "Jeez, calm down. I'm just saying."

"What you're saying is retrospective," he snapped irritably.

Danielle quailed in her seat and closed her mouth. The teacher waited a moment and then cleared her throat nervously.

"Er… well, thank you, Danielle and Jasper. Would anyone else like to say something? Emmett?"

"Yeah," Emmett said smoothly. "I think Danielle's looking at this the wrong way. This isn't a sermon, people—he's just writing a letter to his little sister. When he makes that comment about her cooking skills, he's paying her a compliment. That thing about the newspapers was to reassure her and divert her attention away from the fact that he might die soon. When he's suggests that she put the girl's hair in the inkwell, he's being a fun older brother who isn't so grown up that he's all stuffy and moralistic with her." He shrugged, trying to look unperturbed. In reality, what he wanted to do was hit Danielle upside the head. He could understand Jasper's frustration at her retrospective criticisms—someone had said a similar thing about one of his letters once, and it had stung far more than it should have.

The teacher looked relieved that the tension in the room had dissipated for the most part. "Thank you, Emmett. Well, um, I'm afraid that we don't have time for another letter so… just read that packet for tomorrow and come in prepared to discuss it, okay? 'Bye, everyone. See you tomorrow."

**A/N: this was written around the time that we were studying the Civil War (APUSH claims another innocent victim), so the letter and the historical trivia are both largely factual. The rest, I just made up—I don't know the composition or names of Jasper's original family. Read charitably :)**


	2. Response

**A/N: many, many thanks to those who reviewed :)**

When they got home, Jasper left the car swiftly and went up to his room, taking the stairs two at a time. Esme watched him worriedly and turned to his siblings.

"What's happened?"

"We had to read some Civil War letters in history today," Emmett explained quietly, "and Jasper had to read one of his own letters aloud. It was one that he had written to his little sister, and it was put up for discussion, and this girl attacked it as being chauvinistic and… well… bad day, I guess."

"Oh, no." Esme's face tightened in worry. "What should we do?"

"Leave him alone for a bit," Edward advised. "He needs space."

Alice bit her lip, and Edward looked at her sharply. "I mean it, Alice. Don't approach him. He really needs to be left alone."

Alice looked up at him. There was no point in her talking when Edward could hear her thoughts.

"He'll shove you aside," Edward said quietly, answering her. Alice did not protest; she knew what would happen. But she did not like to think of it.

— — —

Upstairs, Jasper shut his door firmly and jammed his desk chair under the handle. Although it would not keep anyone out, it felt good all the same.

Jasper crossed the room to his dresser, opened the top drawer, and carefully pushed the socks to the side. In the back there were two items that had used to keep on display but had eventually decided that keeping them out in the open was pointless. He now kept them hidden, partially because they were from his old life, which he did not often want to remember, and partially because he was a little afraid that someone would sell them on e-Bay.

Delicately, he lifted out the picture frame and propped it up on top of the dresser. In it was an old black-and-white –well, at this point, it was more of a brown-and-yellow—photograph of his family that had been taken shortly before he had gone off to the war with his father and older brother. Although it had been torn several times, he had lovingly pieced it back together with Scotch tape. There were seven people in the photograph: his mother, with a baby in her arms; Jasper, his father, and his older brother, all looking very official in their Confederate uniforms; and two girls standing in the front. They were all clustered around his mother, who was sitting down.

Suddenly, he realized that he had forgotten his family. He knew that he had had a sister named Lydia—but which one was she? There were two little girls in the picture.

…The older one was Lydia, he decided. She looked about eleven years old. That meant that the other one had been Grace. The younger girl looked about seven—that was old enough to be "clamoring" for a separate letter.

He scanned the picture. What was his brother's name?

He didn't know. He couldn't recall his father's name, either, or the name of the baby. Jasper stared at the faded faces. It was like he was seeing them for the first time. He must have gotten his fair hair from his father; his mother had had dark hair, swept back in a businesslike manner.

Jasper frowned and tried to recall his mother's name. That seemed to have been lost, too. He closed his eyes and began to flip through every girl's name that he could think of that could have been hers. Abigail. Alice. Amelia. Anna. Bethany. Betty. Caroline. Catherine. Charlotte. Eliza. Elizabeth. Faith. Felicity. Laura. Lucy. Mary. Margaret. Patience. Phoebe. Prudence. Ruth. Samantha. Susannah… no, none of those were ringing any bells. It was only because of the letter that he even knew that two of his siblings were called Lydia and Grace.

Although he knew that this was to be expected, Jasper felt the guilt settling in his stomach. Some son he was—he couldn't even remember his own mother's name.

He set the photo frame down and shuffled around in the back of the drawer to withdraw the second item: his army hat. The gray, weather-stained fabric was faded; the brim was stiff from disuse. Jasper crushed the hat between his hands to soften it and then pulled it over his head. He did not keep any mirrors in his room, but Alice had left a compact on his dresser. He flipped it open to look at his reflection and caught his breath. Even without the rest of his uniform, it was not hard to remember how he had looked so long ago. He glanced back at the photograph on the desk and realized that there was very little difference between the human Jasper and the vampire Jasper, except for the unearthly beauty and the horrific scarring.

As a human, Jasper would have loved to get a couple of strategically-placed scars—that would have been a symbol of bravery. It would have shown the world how tough he was, and that he was willing to endure pain for his cause. Well, he had endured pain for a cause, all right, but Maria's army had been nothing but a nightmare to fill in the time until Alice was made a vampire.

That was probably the most depressing thought that he had had yet—the idea that he had spent a hundred years fighting for no apparent reason. Jasper pulled the hat off of his head with one hand and pinched the bridge of his nose with the other, willing his massive headache to go away.


	3. Interlude

**A/N: this hardly counts as a chapter, so you get two! Thank you so much to everyone who left such nice reviews.**

Later that night, the storm had intensified to mammoth proportions. Edward and Emmett, tossing a baseball, poked their heads around Jasper's door. Jasper could sense that they were not as casual as they would appear; they were worried about him.

"Hey, Jasper," Emmett called. "We're all going to go play ball. Wanna—"

"No, thanks."

"Sure?" Edward asked. "Alice says tonight's game is going to be awesome."

Jasper didn't look back. "No, thanks."

He could feel his brothers' emotions waver a bit. Eventually, they decided to back away. They mumbled something about "okay, if you're sure," and shut his door.

— — —

The next day, the sun was shining brilliantly. Jasper pulled the covers over his head.


	4. Detachment

**A/N: another mini-chapter. The next one will be longer, I promise ;) Thank you all for your reviews!**

Alice poked her head around the door. "Jazz?" she said softly. "We're going to go visit Bella. Do you want to come?"

"No, thanks." Jasper spun around in his swivel desk chair to look out the window, turning his back to Alice. He felt her emotions plummet in disappointment as she left, but somehow this didn't bother him as much as it normally would.

— — —

Esme knocked softly on the door. "Jasper? Can I come in, please?"

Noting how tentative she felt, Jasper relented. "Yeah, okay, whatever." He didn't turn from the window.

Esme padded in, her footsteps unusually light, even for her. She stopped halfway across his room, maintaining a respectful distance, and said, "Um… we—that is, Emmett and Carlisle and I—were thinking of going out to the clearing for a _plein air_ watercolor session. Would you—"

"No, thanks." Jasper pulled his knees up and rested his chin on them. Esme hesitated a moment, feeling hurt at his rejection, and finally left.

— — —

When Rosalie pushed his door open a crack and said, "Jasper?" in a small voice, Jasper knew that his family was getting desperate. Although he loved Rosalie, it was a perfunctory love; they were not very close, probably due to their rocky start. After a hundred more years things would probably be running a lot more smoothly between them.

"What is it, Rosalie?"

"Sorry to bother you, but we're going to go hunt in about an hour. If you want to come along." She shut the door with a snap that echoed around Jasper's otherwise silent room.

Jasper smiled a little. Rosalie knew that sometimes people just didn't want to be asked to do anything. Rosalie understood this a little more than the rest of the family. Rosalie knew.

— — —

Jasper didn't go out to hunt, though. He scooted his chair back to the dresser and picked up the photo frame again. He could remember the day that Maria had torn it into six pieces, saying, "You don't need this. This is just a reminder of what you lost a long time ago. Forget them. They've all been dead for years. Clinging to this is a weakness that you don't want or need. This army, this cause, this is all that matters now. As of now, you will drop this foolish obsession with your former family—and that's an order." Jasper had nodded stoically and walked away from the pieces of the photograph, which Maria had dropped on the ground, without a second glance.

Later that night, though, he had gone back to retrieve the pieces and saved them from being stepped upon and further destroyed. He had been afraid of what glue might do to the photograph, so he had saved the pieces until Scotch tape had been invented.


	5. Families

**A/N: thank you so much for your kind reviews!**

The next day, the sun shone weakly, so they were off for another day. Jasper still hadn't emerged from his room, but that didn't stop Alice. Very little stopped Alice.

Jasper was lying on his bed, propped up with pillows, when she flicked the latch on his window open and slid into his room. Then she shut the window and said, "Hey, Jazz. C'mere."

Jasper looked at her sullenly and then did a double take. Alice was wearing a dress that was the same shade of gray that his uniform had been and a bulky, almost unfashionable cardigan. Her knee socks did not match; one had broad orange and yellow stripes, while the other sported multicolored polka dots. Her hair was tied back in two comically tight pigtails with shiny silver curling ribbon, and square black glasses were perched on her nose. In her hands she held a box of tissues, a pint of Ben & Jerry's, and two spoons. A clipboard was tucked underneath her arm.

He just looked at her. "Alice, what is this?"

"C'mere." She sat down on the floor and set out the box of tissues and the ice cream. "C'mon, sit."

He sighed and sat down on the floor opposite from her. Alice whipped out her clipboard seriously, adjusted her glasses, clicked her pen open, and said, with a perfectly straight face, "Now, then, Mr. Hale. Or would you prefer Mr. Whitlock?"

"What?"

"Mr. Hale it is, then." Alice peered owlishly at him from over the top of the clipboard. "We have met here today, Mr. Hale, to discuss the problems that you have been having and how to solve them, all right?"

Jasper almost laughed aloud, but Alice was completely serious. He decided to play along, hoping that she would explain what she was doing.

"O… kay."

"Excellent. Now, Mr. Hale… you seem to be very sad at the moment. Perhaps you could tell me why?"

Jasper shrugged listlessly. "How do you think you'd feel if your words were thrown back at you and you suddenly realized that you had forgotten the people whom you had always promised never to forget, no matter how far away you were or how long you were apart?"

Alice nodded wisely as she scribbled on her clipboard. "I see. I see. So do you think that you have betrayed your family, then?"

"I guess." Jasper leaned forward. "What are you writing?"

"Just some notes," Alice said quickly. "I'm writing down my professional reactions to your answers, Mr. Hale—it's nothing special. Now, let's talk about your sister Lydia, shall we?"

"What are you writing?" Jasper pressed.

"Hmm. Avoidance of the question." Alice frowned and scribbled something else on her clipboard, shaking her head and making a _tut tut tut_ sound. "Tell me about Lydia, please, Mr. Hale."

"What are you tutting for?" Jasper demanded. He took the top of the clipboard and pulled. "Let me see."

"Mr. Hale, please!" Alice cried as she tugged fruitlessly at her clipboard. "My comments are professional, scientific ones! They would not make sense to you—let go, Jasper!"

"No," Jasper said, cracking a smile at her expression. "Let me see what you're writing."

"Gimmie my clipboard, you jerk!"

"You give it to me!" Jasper pulled hard and the clipboard flew out of Alice's grip. He leapt back and began to scan her notes. Alice folded her arms sulkily as she watched him read, her glasses askew on her nose.

On the paper, Alice had written, "_I knew you would take my clipboard, so I've written this all out ahead of time. My 'professional notes' are actually just the doodles in the margins._ Indeed, her writing was surrounded by hearts, flowers, squiggly lines, and even a poorly-drawn unicorn. _Yyou're probably wondering why I'm pretending to psychoanalyze you. I know you think I'm a little odd, but I had to get your attention somehow!_

_I love you!!! You are everything to me—and to the rest of the family. You know that. Please, Jasper, don't feel bad that you've forgotten. Everyone forgets. It's not your fault—you were human a long time ago. You haven't betrayed anything or anyone. _We're_ your family now, and we all love you lots. Please don't shut us out._

_Now give me back my clipboard_."

Jasper snorted. Typical Alice. She had a knack for spoiling a moment. When he raised his eyes, he saw that she had pulled on his Confederate hat and was admiring herself in the compact mirror that she still hadn't taken back.

"Hmm," she said thoughtfully. "Well, it's a little big, but it sure is cute. What do you think, Jazz?" She pulled the hat brim down over her eyebrows and pouted. "Is it me?"

Jasper shuddered a bit. Alice looked hurt.

"C'mon, it's not _that_ bad—"

"You have no idea how disturbing it is to think of you as a Confederate soldier."

"Oh." Alice smiled. "Why? Too dangerous for a delicate little thing like me?"

"The army is no place for a lady."

Alice shook her head affectionately and took off the hat. "Guess I won't be borrowing this anytime soon, then." She stood on her toes to curl an arm around his neck, pulling him downwards because of their height difference, and puckered a bit. Jasper leaned in and kissed her lightly.

"Thanks," he muttered.

Alice smiled sweetly and plopped the hat on Jasper's head, yanking the brim down over his eyes. Then she stopped smiling and said, "Jasper, you know we're your family, don't you? I know that Rosalie is probably nothing like Lydia, but you still have a mom and a dad and three siblings and everything. And Bella's on the way, so you have something like a baby sister—or you will, anyways. It doesn't line up exactly with your human family, but we're doing our best." She touched his face pensively. "If we can't be your real family, can we be acceptable substitutes, do you think?"

Jasper shook his head without thinking. Alice's face fell.

"Don't you love us?"

"Of course I do," he said hastily. "What I meant was that there will never be a substitute for my human family, just like there will never be a substitute for my vampire one." He pulled his wife close to him. "And you _are_ my real family. Maybe not my original family. But my real one. Esme and Carlisle may not be my mother and father, but they are my mom and dad. I used to have one brother and three sisters; now, I have two brothers and two sisters. That's still four siblings." He looked down at her.

"Two sisters? Oh, right—Bella. Bella's the baby of the family now. What was your baby sister's name?"

"I don't remember," Jasper mumbled, embarrassed.

"Oh, that's all right," Alice said cheerfully. "I don't remember, either."

"You aren't really helping," he said dully.

"Sorry," she said hastily, clearly worried that he was going to become all moody again.

"It's alright."

There was a silence.

"…Jasper?"

"Yes, Alice?"

"Is there anything that I can do?"

Jasper was a little taken aback. "Do? But you've already done something."

"I know. But isn't there something else?" She paused and said, "Do you want to go back? To Texas, I mean? To see your old home?"

Jasper mulled it over. That wasn't a half-bad idea. The Cullens occasionally visited their hometowns when they became overpoweringly homesick. He could remember, with horrible clarity, their last disastrous visit to Rochester. Rosalie had been longing to see her old home, but they had accidentally gone down the street that she had nearly been killed on. Rosalie had dissolved into hysterics, and the trip had been immediately canceled. It had been four days before she had been willing to talk to anyone besides Emmett.

But Jasper had no bad memories associated with Houston. In fairness, he barely had any memories at all. And if it wasn't a family trip… if it was just him and Alice… then it would be faster. Just a short jaunt to Houston to see the place where he had grown up, and then home again without any hysterics or nervous breakdowns.

"Yes," he said slowly, tilting his head to the side as he thought. "Yes, I might like that."


	6. Road Trip

**A/N: the penultimate chapter. Thank you very much for your reviews!**

It was a simple matter to get permission to leave. Alice and Jasper wasted no time in packing two small bags, stuffing their wallets full of cash, and driving away from their opulent home. They drove for hours in relative silence.

Something was troubling Alice. Jasper could tell by the way that her emotions flickered and wavered, ever-tense.

"What's the matter, Alice?" he asked, ignoring the road that he was driving down. He was speeding, it was true, but it was also getting dark, so there were fewer cars on the road that he could potentially hit.

"Well…" she said, shifting in her seat nervously, "I haven't seen anything…"

Although he trusted her, Jasper couldn't help checking her emotions quickly. She was in earnest.

"…but it did occur to me that your farm might not be there anymore. I mean, Houston had grown a lot since the Civil War."

"I did think of that," Jasper said quietly. "But I seem to remember that there was a lot of family pride invested in that farm. There was a lot of land there, and it was worth quite a lot. My predecessors got it cheap, before Texas was a state."

"Oh," was all that Alice said. Her fears were not assuaged.

Jasper knew that she was right to be concerned. Most of the Cullens' "pre-vampire" homes were still standing; several of them had been touted as historical landmarks. But those houses had been built, if not during, then after the Industrial Revolution. It was unlikely that his family farm would have survived the turn-of-the-century onslaught of builders and technology—unless family pride had taken over. Jasper knew about family pride. It had been rampant when he was a human. His father never would have allowed their farm to be sold.

Then again, that was all just speculation, since Jasper's memories of his father were practically nonexistent. Despite all the digging in his memory, he hadn't uncovered anything new about his family. For all he knew, his father had jumped at the opportunity to make some money, especially given the woeful state of the Southern postwar economy.

"Well, either it will be there or it won't," he said simply, trying to behave as though he was unconcerned. "Is that all you're worried about?"

"Yes," she said. _No_, her emotions screamed.

"Nice try," Jasper said gravely. "What else is the matter?"

"Nothing," she said stubbornly.

"Have you seen something?" Jasper asked.

"Do you remember where your farm was?" Alice asked in a businesslike manner.

"Don't change the subject, please."

"I'll take that as a no," she said, a tad waspishly. She reached into the backseat and extracted a laptop from her backpack. "Fortunately, I came prepared."

Jasper sighed. He would have to just accept that Alice wouldn't talk for the time being. He would try again later, even though it galled him to have to wait. He didn't like the idea of having Alice be worried over some unknown thing as they attempted to find an old antebellum farm. Actually, he didn't like the idea of having Alice be worried over some unknown thing, ever.

"Alright," Alice said, flipping open the laptop and bringing up the Internet. "I think we'll start with the painfully obvious and work our way from there. I'm going to try searching 'Whitlock family farm.'"

"It was on the eastern outskirts," Jasper said, switching off the radio to give Alice some quiet.

"Hmm," Alice said, frowning at the computer screen. "Okay, never mind that last search. I'm going to see if I can find out how much Houston has grown since the Civil War…" her fingers flew over the keyboard. The screen jumped.

"Oh…" Alice said.

"That much of a change, huh?"

"Was your farm… um… close to Houston?"

Jasper frowned. "I think so. It was… maybe four or five miles away? I remember being able to walk there."

Alice sighed. "Right. Well, it looks like your farm has been built over. Buildings as far as they eye can see, and then some."

Jasper's shoulders slumped. He had known that this was coming, of course. But it was still disappointing.

"Guess we should just turn the car around," he said dully.

"Maybe your house is still there," Alice said encouragingly. "That would be a historical landmark, wouldn't it?"

"I guess," Jasper said, shrugging. "It might have been knocked down to make way for newer houses." But Alice's enthusiasm was catching. "But then again it might not have been. Family pride ran pretty strongly in the South; they might not have considered selling."

"The least we can do is check it out," Alice said brightly. "I mean, Carlisle's human house is still standing, and that one was built way before yours."

Jasper did not turn the car around.


	7. Gone

**A/N: the last chapter. Since this fic didn't garner many reviewers, I can thank you all individually (yay). So: thank you very much to, Alice Vertically Challenged, cheesepuff311, diehardTWIhard, and Lucy Alyce. You four rock my socks, and I love you all. Really.**

Alice and Jasper arrived in Houston at the ideal time: dusk. Their visit had been carefully planned; they had both eaten, and they drove into the city just as night was falling. It was unlikely that it would take more than one night to find out whether or not Jasper's old home had been built over. Alice had researched Houston's Civil War museum's records, but had had no success, so they had decided to just drive around the area that might have Jasper's house.

Alice normally loved visiting new cities, but she was evidently unhappy.

"What's the matter?" Jasper asked quietly. By then they had been driving for several hours without success.

"Nothing," Alice muttered.

"Alice."

There was a silence. Finally, Alice said, "I just… don't like Houston, that's all."

"Liar," Jasper snorted, turning a corner. "You love Houston. Your emotions spike every time you hear the word."

"You're so annoying," she sighed. "Alright. I don't like you _being_ in Houston. Happy?"

"Actually, I'm confused."

Alice's emotions took a funny turn, swirling haphazardly before settling into an emotion that she didn't often experience: embarrassment.

"What's the matter, Alice?" Jasper asked, softening his tone into one that oozed sympathy and charisma. But he wasn't influencing her—not yet. Influencing her would make her irritated in the long run. Better to let her talk of her own accord.

Normally, that particular tone could have everyone in the room falling over themselves to talk, but Alice was showing extraordinary resilience. "It's nothing," she said dismissively. "I'm being stupid."

Jasper decided to hazard a guess. "Is it because you're worried that I prefer Texas to Forks? That I might want to stay here?"

"No," she said hastily. _Yes_, her emotions muttered resignedly.

Jasper had to laugh. Alice looked very hurt.

"It's not funny!" she cried.

He shook his head, still grinning. "You're right, it isn't really funny. But I thought you knew better."

"Well, I do know better," Alice admitted sheepishly. "But I'm allowed to feel a little jealousy, aren't I? I mean, what does a tiny town like Forks have to offer that this—" she gestured out the window at the jagged skyline and the small yellow lights that punctured the blackness, even late at night, "—doesn't?"

"Forks has my family," Jasper said seriously. "And Houston doesn't even seem to have my old home."

"Yeah," Alice said. "I think it's gone for good. We've been driving for hours and there's been no sign of anything that was built before the Civil War. It's all way too modern." She paused. "I'm really sorry."

"Me too," Jasper said honestly. "I had wanted to see it. I had hoped…" he trailed off, letting Alice finish his sentence.

"You had hoped that seeing your house would jog your memory." It wasn't a question; Alice had done the same thing. Her human dwelling was still standing and inhabited, but she hadn't been able to recollect anything new when she had visited. It had been very upsetting; she had been in an abysmal mood for nearly a week and a half. Not even a carte blanche at Chanel had cheered her up.

"Yes," Jasper murmured. He allowed himself a few brief moments of self-pity before pulling himself together. Moping wasn't going to get him anywhere. Perhaps, if nothing from his past could be found, then it was time to stop looking.

"Yes," he repeated, more forcefully. "But that's all right."

"No, it's not," Alice argued gently. "You're disappointed; I can tell."

"I am," Jasper said, steering the car in the general direction of the freeway. "But it was only a farm."

"It wasn't just a farm."

Jasper paused for a moment, choosing his words carefully. "My human life… was tiny when compared to my immortal one. Maybe I should just… stop trying to remember. It can't be brought back—and besides," he said, smiling down at his wife, "I'd say that, on the whole, my immortal life is a lot better than my human one."

"Well, except for the whole thing with the vampire armies," Alice conceded.

"Except for that," he agreed. "But in a hundred years, that will be pretty small compared to my current life, too. Things will even out."

Alice looked a bit more cheerful. "So, are you back to normal, then? Are you okay?"

"Yeah," Jasper said, turning onto the freeway's entrance ramp. "I think I am." He was, of course, fibbing; the prospect of going home to tell his family that his house was no longer standing was not a nice one. When they drove in, he knew that they would all be eager but nervous; when they found out that nothing had been found, he would have to deal with a massive wave of pity. He didn't want pity. He wanted to go back to normalcy.

Perhaps, in normalcy, he would be able to troll online archives for information on his family. The prospect cheered him slightly.

Jasper looked down at Alice, smiling at the idea. "How about you? Are you okay?"

"Yes," she said, pulling one of his hands off the steering wheel so that she could hold it. "I'm fine."


End file.
